Forever
by wavesfromhome
Summary: Cameron Frye used to say that Ferris Bueller was his hero. T for cursing


Cameron Frye used to say that Ferris Bueller was his hero.

But that was when he was seventeen and when days were meant for skipping school and living instead of working till five and dancing with drunkenness until midnight in anonymous pubs.

Cameron Frye used to think that the days of the terrible threesome, the terrifying three, their very own power of three, would last forever. That years and years and years from that day when he is seventeen and ditches school, he would still be a planet orbiting the great Ferris Bueller.

These days, Cameron Frye is twenty nine, so close to the big three-oh that he can taste it, and it scares the shit out of him.

The apartment next door to the pigsty that he lives in belongs to Sloane Peterson, Ferris Bueller's long time flame. Sometimes, when it's almost one, when her apartment was closer than his, Cameron can hear the two of them fumbling against her doorway, can hear the vibrations of their voices rumbling through the walls.

Later, when the squeaking of bed springs has finally stopped, when the lack of sound wakes him up, he will smile just a little bit into the night.

Some things never change.

Except, of course, they _do_.

Everything changes the night that Cameron Frye wakes up, not because of deafening silence, but because of the crashing and banging from inside his own apartment.

Metal bat in hand, Cameron peers out of his room, all wide eyes and floppy hair that just won't quit.

He can make out a figure on sprawled out on his couch; a flick of the light and the baseball bat falls and the intruder is revealed, drunk and lazy and languid.

Ferris Bueller is on Cameron Frye's couch.

"Not so loud!"

"Ferris? What are you doing here?"

Ferris Bueller gives Cameron Frye his best drunken smile, his head lolling back, and he gestures for Cameron to sit on the couch.

"Remember that car? Your father's car? Remember that? It was a great car. I want a car like that." His feet lift from the couch for a brief second as Cameron takes the seat, giving his best friend a look of pure amazement.

"Do I remember that car? Of course I remember that car. My dad—" His voice is cut off by Ferris's laugh, high and jovial and honest.

"Yeah. That was a good day."

"You're only saying that because you wanted to fuck that car."

"What's with you and Sloane about that? I didn't fuck that car. I just want to fuck Sloane in that car."

"Ah. Yes. I'm sure that's all there was too it. I'm sure it didn't have to do with—"

"Hey! You promised you would never mention that again!"

"Yeah, well. It's two in the morning,. What did you expect?"

The two sit in a companionable silence for a few moments, lost in memories of convertibles.

"Actually, there is something I wanted to talk to you about." Ferris's voice is suddenly very, very sober. Cameron feels his heart speed up in his chest; nothing good has ever come out of a sober-drunk Ferris.

"What?" Eyes him warily.

"Well, you know we're this little group. Friends forever. Family. We don't know where we'll be in a year, in two years, but we know that we'll be _together_, right?" Cameron opens his mouth, the replies of _Yes_ and _together until there's no more days to be spent_ and _the tremendous trio_ all ready to jump out of his mouth, but Ferris cuts him off.

"The thing is, we'll all be together. And I wouldn't do anything to change that, you know? I love you. And I _love_ Sloane. I really, really love Sloane. I've…I've pictured marrying her since I was seventeen years old," Ferris swings into a sitting position, pulling a box from his pocket.

"I'm going to ask her to marry me. Well, I want to. But only if you give me your blessing. Because I want all of us to be together and I don't want to do anything that would screw that up."

Cameron Frye stares at his best friend, mouth gaping open.

"Cameron? Come on, say something. Say anything."

And then, Cameron Frye laughs.

He laughs and laughs and _laughs_, gut wrenching, side splitting, gasping-for-air laughter, shattering the still of the night.

"Cameron—"

"Shhh….Hold on. Let me savor the moment. The great—" Cameron attempts to say between guffaws, "The great Ferris Bueller, CEO of his own million-dollar company, needs my permission to marry one of his best friend? To marry one of my best friends? Because he thinks it might _split us up_?"

"What's so funny about that?"

"If anything, it'll only bring us closer together!" and then both are laughing, two best friends in the couch.

"So when are you going to propose?" Cameron asks when their laughter has finally subsided.

"I don't know. Probably tomorrow. I just can't wait any longer, you know? She's the one. She is the one."

"I'm really happy for you guys. She'll say yes, no doubt about it."

"Thanks. I really hope she does, and I think she will, but a little part of me doubts that she would say ye—"

"Don't even go there. She'll say yes. Trust me on this. She'll say yes."

Six months later, Cameron Frye stands witness as his two best friends promise themselves to each other forever.

He's got an awful pink blouse on because Sloane wanted him to be her maid of honor.

And he's got a ridiculous vest on because Ferris wanted him to be his best man.

Cameron Frye used to say that Ferris Bueller was his hero.

These days, Cameron Frye says that Ferris Peterson-Bueller is his best friend.

Because _hero_ is a little to unhuman –like for Ferris Peterson-Bueller.

Because maybe that's all he ever needed to be.

Cameron Frye used to think that the days of the terrible threesome, the terrifying three, their own little power of three would be forever.

Cameron Frye was right.


End file.
